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The moment was surreal-Dattatriya came near me at the entrance of the Mahakal Mandir, his eyes unreadable yet soft. I raised my brow at him, silently asking What now? He didn't say a word. Instead, he suddenly swept me up in his arms, bridal style.
"Datta!" I yelped, completely startled. Everyone around us-my family, the few gathered devotees, even the security-froze for a second, stunned by the sight of the cold, emotionless Chief Minister of Rajasthan carrying someone like she was the most delicate thing in the world.
"What are you doing?" I hissed softly, half-embarrassed and half-melting at the gesture. My arms instinctively went around his neck for balance, but my heart was thundering for a different reason.
He looked down at me with that rare, heart-melting softness in his eyes and whispered, "I had vowed to Mahakal... that when I finally make you mine, I'll carry my goddess to him and take his blessings."
My throat tightened. I didn't reply. I couldn't. Because in that moment, I knew this man was trying to heal every scar he'd once given.
The press caught sight of us-cameras clicking, flashes going off-but we both ignored it. This was between me, him, and our god.
My family followed behind, all watching in silence and awe as Dattatriya carried me past the stone steps and up into the sanctum. Finally, as we reached near the Mahakal Ling, he slowly put me down on my feet with reverence.
Before I could say anything, he stepped away and went somewhere nearby. I turned to follow his path with my eyes, confused, but my family came near me and the distraction pulled me back.
Bhairava bhaiya was the first to break the silence. "Katha... ye aadmi kab se itna filmy ho gaya?" he muttered under his breath.
I couldn't help but chuckle, "Jab se usse Choudhury ki beti se pyaar hua bhaiya."
( Katha... since when did this man become so dramatic?"
"Since he fell in love with the Choudhury daughter, bhaiya.")
Gyan bhaiya crossed his arms and added, "But he's walking a fine line. If he messes up even once-"
"Gyan bhaiya!" I scolded lightly, "At least let him do his pooja in peace before planning his funeral."
Dyan bhaiya grunted but looked at me warmly for a change. "You look happy," he said.
I nodded. "I am... somewhat."
Then Utsav, my ladlaa, came to me grinning wide. "Di, he carried you like a hero in movies! I thought he doesn't even believe in romance."
I patted his cheek, "Bas laddu... sometimes even stone-hearted people melt."
Finally Arya bhabhi came near me, rubbing her baby bump with a tired smile. She whispered, "He loves you, Katha. No matter how cold he acts... I see it."
Just then, our eyes snapped to the steps again-Dattatriya was returning. He was now dressed in a traditional white dhoti with a shawl draped over his shoulder. His upper body was bare, revealing his tattoo-covered chest and arms-the same chest I had traced this very morning with my fingers.
He walked with silent intensity and devotion. I watched him, my breath catching slightly. His eyes were only on the ling ahead. But I couldn't help myself.
I leaned toward Arya bhabhi and whispered mischievously, "Bhabhi, mera pati kya maal hai, hai na?"
Arya bhabhi, her pregnancy hormones clearly not holding back today, giggled and nodded eagerly. "Uff, haan! And now I want Bhairava to get tattoos like that too!" she said before turning innocently toward Bhairava bhaiya, "Bhaira, you should! So even I can say-kya maal pati hai mera!"
The look on Bhairava bhaiya's face was priceless-a mix of horror, shock, and betrayal. He slowly turned to glare at Dattatriya like this is your fault.
Gyan bhaiya and Utsav couldn't control their laughter, and even Dyan bhaiya smirked under his breath. I just bit my lip to hold back a laugh.
Dattatriya, completely unaware of the chaos he'd unintentionally caused, came to stand beside me, his presence powerful, yet silent.
The temple bell rang above us. The pooja was about to begin.
Datta held my hand carefully, his touch gentle, as though he was holding something delicate and precious.
"Come, sunshine," he whispered softly, his voice low and reverent in the stillness of the temple.
I turned to look at him, and he was already watching me - his dark eyes filled with something unspoken, something warm.
I didn't know why he called me 'sunshine,' but every time he said it, something inside me softened.
I nodded quietly, trusting him more than I could ever explain.
We walked together toward the Shivling, our steps slow and respectful.
The air around us was thick with the scent of incense and fresh flowers.
I could feel the energy of the place wrap around us like a sacred blanket, grounding yet divine.
We sat down on the cool marble floor beside each other, hands joined.
His palm was warm against mine, grounding me, steadying me.
The pandit ji began the pooja by pouring water over the black stone, his voice rising in the temple's echoing stillness as he chanted the sacred Maha Mrityunjaya Mantra:
Om Tryambakam yajaamahe sugandhim pushtivardhanam |
Urvaarukamiva bandhanaan-mrityormuksheeya maamritaat ||
Each syllable felt ancient, timeless. I closed my eyes and let the words sink into me.
Datta didn't move or shift beside me - he was utterly still, and I could feel his focus, his devotion.
There was something deeply peaceful in sitting beside him like this, in silence, with nothing but prayer between us.
Then, the pandit ji applied haldi and kumkum to the Shivling. As the vibrant powders touched the wet stone, another chant began - the Kalabhairava Stotra, its rhythm fierce and sacred, invoking power and protection:
Deva raja sevya mana pavangri pankajam,
Vyala yagna suthra mindu shekaram krupakaram,
Naradadhi yogi vrundha vandhitham digambaram,
Kasika puradhi nadha Kalabhairavam bhaje
Datta's eyes were closed now, and I could see his lips moving slightly, repeating the words with perfect ease, as if they were a part of him.
His devotion wasn't loud or showy - it was deep, silent, powerful.
As the next verse echoed through the temple, I felt something stir inside me - a sense of being protected, watched over.
Bhanu koti bhaswaram, bhavabdhi tharakam param,
Neelakanda meepsidartha dayakam trilochanam,
Kalakala mambujaksha maksha soola maksharam,
Kasika puradhi nadha Kalabhairavam bhaje
Finally, the pandit ji poured milk over the Shivling, the white stream flowing in calm rivulets, cleansing, sacred. The Maha Mrityunjaya Mantra was chanted again, its power wrapping around us like a soft, divine embrace:
Om Tryambakam yajaamahe sugandhim pushtivardhanam |
Urvaarukamiva bandhanaan-mrityormuksheeya maamritaat ||
When the final word faded into the air, there was a deep silence.
A sacred kind of stillness. The pooja had ended, but something inside me had shifted.
I looked at Datta again. He opened his eyes slowly and turned to me.
He didn't speak - he didn't have to. His gaze held me completely.
And in that moment, I understood. Maybe he called me sunshine because, in a life filled with shadows, I was the only light he chose to let in.
Finally, the pooja had ended, and the sanctity of the moment still lingered in the temple air.
The pandit ji stepped toward us with a serene smile, signaling that it was time for the final blessings.
Datta and I stood up together, our hands still joined.
He hadn't opened his eyes once during the whole ritual - his devotion was complete, unwavering.
His hands were folded in prayer, his face calm, and there was a quiet strength in the way he stood before the divine.
The pandit ji first placed a fresh flower garland gently around Datta's neck.
Then, he dipped his fingers into the sacred vibuti and marked a firm stroke across Datta's forehead - the holy ash shining against his skin.
He then took a pinch of the red kumkum that had touched the Shivling itself and pressed it onto the center of Datta's forehead.
Datta still hadn't opened his eyes, as though he was still in communion with something far greater than words.
Then the pandit ji turned to him and spoke, "Beta, now put your garland on your wife."
Datta slowly opened his eyes and gave a faint nod.
With steady hands, he lifted the garland from his own neck and placed it over mine, the flowers brushing against my cheeks as I bowed slightly, accepting it.
Something about the gesture made my heart flutter - not out of shyness, but because of the reverence in the way he did it, as though I was something sacred to him.
The pandit ji then held out a small silver bowl containing vibrant red vermillion. "Put this sindoor in your wife's hair partition, beta," he said. "So that your bond is secured not just for this life, but for seven lifetimes."
I turned to Datta instinctively, my eyes searching his.
He was already looking at me with that same quiet intensity.
He reached out carefully, his fingers steady but tender as he took the pinch of sindoor.
Then, with utmost gentleness, he applied it to the parting of my hair.
A little bit fell onto my nose, and in that moment, we both paused.
Our eyes met - his expression unreadable but filled with something deep, something ancient and raw. I didn't know what to say, but I didn't need to. He was mine. I was his.
"Wah," the pandit ji murmured with awe, "sakshaat Shiv-Parvati ki jodi hai."
("Truly, you are the embodiment of Shiv and Parvati.")
I turned to Datta again. He was already watching me - not with pride, not with possession, but with something far more rare: reverence.
Then the pandit ji said, "Bahu, take blessings from your husband."
I nodded without question and moved forward, my hands about to touch his feet out of respect. But before I could, Datta stepped back slightly and shook his head. I looked up at him, confused.
"No, sunshine," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, "you are my Lakshmi... my goddess. And a goddess never bows before her devotee."
Before I could process those words, Datta bent down and touched my feet.
A soft gasp escaped my lips. My eyes widened. Behind me, I could hear the collective shock of my family and even the pandit ji, who stilled in disbelief.
"Datta..." I whispered, completely stunned.
But he had already straightened up again, calm as ever, his eyes not ashamed, not hesitant - but full of unshaken belief.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know what to feel. But in that moment, I realized something. In this man, this cold, powerful, feared ruler of men... I had found someone who saw me not just as a partner, but as divine.
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